tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-242264592017-08-15T16:38:11.810-07:00The Irelands in Africateaching, training, and discipling for holistic mission.Jerry Irelandnoreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-78492327761479001732013-07-10T16:49:00.001-07:002013-07-10T17:31:51.806-07:00Holy Goat and Selfish Doxologies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6nNFZzpl704/Ud3y62zNGXI/AAAAAAAAANM/rKOYL0RG2Hs/s1600/its-all-about-me.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6nNFZzpl704/Ud3y62zNGXI/AAAAAAAAANM/rKOYL0RG2Hs/s320/its-all-about-me.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I love to hear my daughter pray. At 2 1/2, she has a few basic prayers that she regularly prays: “Tank you Jesus for all da bressings, and mommy and daddy and mammy and papa and all da friends. Amen,” is one of my favorites. But tonight at dinner she sort of got off track, and missed the point of the whole thing. She wanted to sing the doxology, which we sometimes do at dinner time. She calls it “Praise Fadder,” because of the last part, “praise Father, So-on and Holy Ghost.” We all started to sing, and she immediately interrupted us and told us to stop. “Charis do it,” she said. Apparently, she wanted this doxology to be HER doxology, and hers alone. So, after silencing me and Paula, she came to the finish. “Praise Fadder, Son, and Hody Goat.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">After we stopped laughing at the thought of a holy goat (I know, how could we!), I couldn’t help but think how ironic her prayer was—and probably how typical of the way we followers of Jesus behave. We want to sing about God’s glory, all the while seeking our own. We want to shush those voices that would join ours, for fear that they might drown us out. 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It has been a while since I've posted, and I just wanted to inform you that I've started a new blog over at wordpress, called <a href="http://wordandwind.com/">wordandwind</a>. I probably won't be posting much here, as my life has become a bit more academic these days, and that just is where I'm at, mentally and otherwise. So, come on over and join the conversation!Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-55704997015924988942011-08-21T06:16:00.000-07:002011-08-21T06:16:50.652-07:00The Silence of God <style>
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</style> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Last night we had to let Charis cry herself back to sleep in the middle of the night. She has been waking up at 2 a.m. every night for last few weeks, mostly because we have been on the road, and now that we are at home we want to get her back on schedule. It wasn’t easy though. As I lay in bed and listened to her go from whimpering, to wailing, to moaning––as though she were in the throws of some terrible agony, I wanted so desperately to go and pick her up and give her a bottle, which was all she really wanted. But I knew, because of the advice of countless friends, that if we continue to let her do this we would be getting up with her at 2 a.m. until she was practically in high school. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And so, I lay there and did nothing, except pray for her (and for us) that we would all soon go back to sleep. And it occurred to me that this is probably the way it is with some of the things we adults pray for. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Often, I suspect, we ask God for things that are neither good for us in the short-term nor that bode well for our future. We are infants crying out in the night for another dose of formula, for more food in our bellies, when in fact what we need is rest and the discipline that comes from learning to wait patiently for the Lord. Even as my not responding to Charis’s cry, was an intentional act on my part, done out of my love for her and concern for her future, so too is God’s silence most often an act of grace and compassion. By not giving us what we want, God often gives us something much better––namely, what we need. Or, as David Platt recently put it in a sermon, “What a terrible thing it is when God gives to sinful creatures exactly what they want.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">My encouragement for you today is to remember then, that no matter what it is you are crying out to God for, be assured that He is listening. Though, like Habakkuk we may say “O Lord, How long shall I cry for help and you will not hear?” (Hab. 1:2), we can rest assured that not only does God hear, but that He is ever at work in the lives of those who trust Him. And it may very well be for us, as God said to Habakkuk, “Look among the nations and see; wonder and be astounded. For I am doing a work in your day that you would not believe if told.”</div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-58633262994596693922011-04-06T05:36:00.000-07:002011-04-06T05:36:57.896-07:00Less than PerfectWow...its been way too long since my last post! Sorry for that! By way of a quick update, we are back in the US, and full-swing in the itineration process. Last Sunday we were with Daniel McNaughton and the folks at Spring Valley Community Church in eastern PA. We had planned on showing our missions video, but somehow the video we brought with us was a family Christmas video! Imagine our surprise when <i>that </i>came up on the screen! Anyway, we are thankful that the folks at SVCC are gracious and could just roll with it. No one freaked out, and in fact someone said we should have just gone ahead and shown that video! I like that! After all, we are all family anyway––right!<br /><br />I sometimes struggle with, and internally want to rebel against the "performance" aspect of ministry. I don't even like to use the word "performance" but there is a sense in which that is exactly what it is. There are times in ministry when it is easy to feel the pressure of needing to convey a sense of our having it all together. And often, I think its healthy to be reminded that we really don't have it all together, that no one does (but Jesus), and that our humanness––rather than a false perfectionism, provides the greatest potential for connectedness with those around us. Would love to hear your thoughts on that topic though!<br /><br />Also, some new developments are afoot in our ministry while we are in the US for itineration. We will be helping out with Africa AG Care–-a new ministry in Springfield, MO that focuses on compassionate ministry in Africa. We will be especially helping out with a magazine called Embrace. This is not a full-time thing, but just something we are lending a hand with until we get back to Zambia. We are exited about the opportunity, and will have more details in the coming days. Thanks for sticking with us, and being a part of the journey!<br /><br />JerryJerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-25509949126596808862010-12-17T08:36:00.000-08:002010-12-17T08:36:33.362-08:00Release of my book, "Embracing the Baobab."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O4wmD1Q0X-Y/TQuRZg8VJYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/TEwy_OOGfUY/s1600/e-book+Embracing_the_Baobab_Page_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_O4wmD1Q0X-Y/TQuRZg8VJYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/TEwy_OOGfUY/s320/e-book+Embracing_the_Baobab_Page_001.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>Hi friends,<br />I wanted to let you know that Life Publishers has published my book "Embracing the Baobab" and that it is available for purchase either on our website <a href="http://www.keepingupwiththeirelands.com/">www.keepingupwiththeirelands.com</a> or by emailing me directly (jerry.ireland@agmd.org).<br />The book is basically a collection of blog entries arranged in devotional format. The book also contains some additional material not found in the blogs that I hope will be a blessing to you!<br />Let me know if you would like to order a copy (or several) and I will get it in the mail right away. There is still time to order for Christmas presents.<br />Paula and I pray you all have a wonderful Christmas and experience the joy and peace of Immanuel, God with us!<br />Also, we would like to request prayer for a new court date for the custody hearing of our recently adopted daughter Charis Jordan. The hearing is scheduled for Monday morning and we are praying that all goes well, that the birth mom is able to make it to the hearing and that there are no complications. Thanks so very much and God bless!Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-59874944749774216512010-12-14T13:02:00.000-08:002010-12-14T13:02:36.803-08:00Child of God<style>p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 0.5in; line-height: 200%; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } </style> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">It has been two weeks now since Charis Jordan entered our lives and hearts; two weeks since our world was gloriously and wonderfully turned upside-down, or rather, turned right-side up. We are continuing to wait for a court date, though, for a custody hearing that will finally allow us to go home to Springfield with our new daughter. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">I’ve never been good at waiting. I’ve at times been said to have patience, but having patience and being good at waiting are not really the same thing. A patient person is just someone who is perfectly happy to never be anywhere but where they are and never do nothing but what they are doing. People who fish are patient. But waiting, putting everything on hold until some event transpires that releases you to get moving once again, that allows you to resume life as you know it, that I am sure, is something hardly anyone really likes. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But, we wait. We wait, and we wait because what we wait for is worth waiting for. Not everything is. Babies, though, are because of what we know they will do and are doing to us and in us. We look at a baby and wonder about not only the life that awaits them, but also the life that awaits us because of them. A baby has a way of reordering our world and our priorities that seem to so often get out-of-whack.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">I have struggled a lot this week with the waiting part. I have wanted so badly for this part to be over, for the custody to be official because in the waiting there is a degree of uncertainty and that uncertainty, if you let yourself dwell on it, can be terrifying. That’s because there are few guarantees in life and the possibility that things might turn out far worse than we hope always looms large, perhaps especially so after the loss of Josiah. And I’m not sure I could survive the loss of this little girl who has so captured my heart, who at 19 inches and some 8 lbs. or so, stops the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Since Charis came into our lives, my favorite time of day has come to be around 3 a.m., when it’s just me and her and the stillness of the night, when nothing is there to call me away, when I can dote on her and talk to her—not baby talk, but adult talk, daddy to daughter––about life and about diapers and Binkies––all the things that really matter. Of course, its not all glory and good conversation. There is another side of those 3 a.m. moments and I know now why they call it the “wee” hours of the morning. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">During one of those times recently, I looked down at Charis, and overwhelmed by how much I love her, said out loud, “No one will ever love you as much as I do!.” And I meant it too. Immediately, though, I knew that it wasn’t true. Immediately I knew that God loved her more than I do and I could hardly fathom that. I knew too that God loved me more than I loved Charis, and that too was something I found impossible to get my head around. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And as I sat there on the couch with Charis, I couldn’t help but think about the twin realities of both God’s love and his waiting (and perhaps for Him, waiting and patience are the same because for God the outcome is never uncertain). I was struck by the fact that because we have a loving God, we also have a God who waits to finally bring us home. And, free will being what it is, there are no guarantees that all of us actually will come home. Some will choose to turn away from the One who loves them most. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">As Christmas approaches, I find it overwhelming to contemplate that God sent His only Son to die on a cross, and finally lead us all home. I find it overwhelming to contemplate that God became an infant, and in doing so said truly, “No one will ever love you more than I do.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><i>For God so loved the world…! </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">This Christmas, I am reminded that in Christ we have all been given a Child who, if we allow Him, will gloriously and wonderfully reorder our world and our priorities as only He can. Because in Christ being born we see the love of our Father most fully expressed. In Jesus, we find hope because in Him we become God’s children (John 1:12).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Merry Christmas everyone!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-33955238337486261522010-12-03T07:25:00.000-08:002010-12-03T07:25:36.070-08:00Grace, Flowing Down.<link href="file://localhost/Users/jerryireland/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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</style> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Even though I feel very much at a loss for words, and very certain that I will not come close to expressing all or even most of what is in my heart right now, I have to at least try. I have to try because—one, I want to follow the advice of a friend and not let this moment slip by. But also, I have this sense that there is more to this moment than I understand, that it is beyond even the miraculous event we know it to be.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Monday morning at about 11 a.m., we got a call from the adoption agency we have been working with. They wanted to know how soon we could get to Tulsa because a baby had been born at 8:30 that morning, and her mother––a single mother of four, was not going to be able to care for her and would be placing the baby for adoption. The mother had left it to the agency to choose an adopting family, and that family happened to be us. After we picked our jaws up off the floor, we rushed home, through some clothes in a suitcase and headed for Tulsa. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Three hours later we arrived at the hospital in Tulsa, and were met by a friend from the adoption agency. They took us in, and in a matter of minutes we were holding the most beautiful little girl we have ever seen—a perfect little baby, wrapped tight in a blanket––a baby burrito the nurse called her. At a glance, this would seem to have been the most simple adoption to ever take place. We woke up that morning expecting just another November day. We went to bed that night as the parents of beautiful Charis Jordan. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">The truth is, though, this process has been anything but easy. It has been a tumultuous roller coaster of a ride. Several times it appeared an adoption was coming together, and yet it never quite seemed to work out. That in itself was emotionally draining and left us despairing that an adoption might never happen. We were to be in the U.S. now for only a short time, and we had an acute awareness that if something didn’t happen fairly soon, it would not happen at all. Our window of opportunity was very narrow. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Recently, we had been feeling the combined pressure of this narrow window and past disappointments (including the loss of Josiah), very acutely. Our hope was fading and we both were beginning to grow weary of trying to hang on to hope that never seemed to materialize into reality. It began to seem as though it might be better to simply abandon hope all together and just give up. Before doing that though––which was never what we wanted to do, only what we feared we would be forced to do––we decided to spend some time really seeking the Lord. And so, in the week just prior to our receiving Charis, we both committed ourselves to a several days of fasting and prayer specifically for God’s guidance and direction regarding adoption. Our prayer was that God would either close the door completely, or that He would throw it wide open and make it clear what He had planned for us. We felt we really needed to hear clearly from God in order to continue in this process.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">One of the things we were wrestling with was that we had lately begun to consider embryo adoption as a possibility. After looking into this, and meeting some wonderful people involved in it, we thought this might be something that could work for us. In some ways, it seemed safer than traditional adoption. Paula would carry the baby, and so we would know that the baby was not being exposed to drugs or alcohol. So, we starting moving forward with this, and made an appointment to see an embryologist in St. Louis. Long story short, there was a medical complication that brought that whole plan to a screeching halt. Another dead end, another disappointment, hope deferred yet again. It was feasible that a simple procedure would have had the ball rolling again with embryo adoption, there was no guarantee. We just began to get overwhelmed by the choices and decisions to be made, and felt we completely lacked the ability to make those decisions. Hope was starting to feel like a ball and chain that we drug around with us wherever we went, rather than something to look forward to. And I was starting to think that the best thing we could do was to cut hope loose and just move on. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But after our time of prayer and fasting last week, Paula and I both sensed peace in a way we hadn’t in a long time. Paula one morning during her devotions felt the Lord speak to her specifically when reading the story of the birth of Samuel, when Eli said to Hannah, “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him” (1 Sam. 1:17). After that morning, Paula felt sure that God would do something, and that we would have a child. As for me, I wanted to be sure, but I found myself bogged down with past disappointments.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">We had no idea that in less than a week’s time, we would be holding a precious baby girl––our very own daughter, Charis Jordan. We are still in shock somewhat over all that has happened in the last three days. But we marvel at the impeccable timing and guiding hand of God that has brought us to this moment. If we had gone ahead with the embryo adoption (which we continue to believe is a wonderful program!), we would have had to close the door on traditional adoption. In other words, if were not for a medical complication in that process, we would have gone ahead with it right away and in doing so we would have effectively shut the door on becoming Charis’s parents. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And so now, as I write this and contemplate all that we feel God has taught us over the last two years, several things come to the forefront. First, the one truth and hope that we must cling to always, is that God is good and that His plans endure forever. “I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that men will revere him” (Eccl. 3:14). Difficult and challenging times will come when it seems that God has completely forgotten us. And though that is never the case, most of the challenges and difficulties we go through (perhaps all of them) cannot be solved simply with a clever Tweet. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Hope is not a ball and chain that we drag around, but it is of utmost value because it carries us through the darkness and tells us that a brighter day is coming. It tells us that a brighter day is coming, not because we deserve it (we don’t!), and not because we’ve earned it (we can’t!) but because God loves us, and desires to give us that brighter day. “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full,” Jesus said. I don’t for a moment pretend to understand the darkness, or to know why the valley’s can seem so incredibly low. But this I do know. The valley is not where we are meant to stay. It is a part of the journey, but it is never our destination. And the key to getting through the valley is not to abandon hope, but to hold to it with all that we have, with prayer and fasting, with tears and crying out to God because it is God Himself that we need to encounter, it is God Himself that is our hope. Our hope is really not that our prayer will be answered, though God does that too, but our hope is that we would in clinging to hope, cling to God. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Charis means “grace” and Jordan means “flowing down.” As we look back over the gift of Josiah, and the journey of the last two years, we can think of no more appropriate words to describe our situation, both then and now. Grace. Flowing down.</div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-35482391761386277942010-09-14T17:01:00.000-07:002010-09-14T17:01:01.486-07:00Traveling Songs<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> 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table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Cambria","serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">There’s only one good thing about driving 25 miles across the city of Lusaka at the peak of rush hour traffic. And that is having a car packed full of Zambian men and women singing high praises, in rich harmonies, from the bottom of their hearts. Your all-time favorite worship CD doesn’t even come close. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I remember the first time I came to Africa, and entered a worship service in progress. Acapella voices filled the tiny mud structure and transformed it into a holy place. Though I didn’t understand a single word, my eyes filled with tears, and I was sure I was hearing the music of heaven.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Many times since then have I tried to comprehend the rich dimensions of African worship. <span>&nbsp;</span>Is it the sweetness of hearts that have learned to prize Jesus above earthly treasures? Is it a familiarity with suffering that has laid hold of things eternal? Is it the song of those who, amidst great darkness, have caught a transforming glimpse of Christ? Is it the timbre of those who desperately long for and confidently expect His coming? Or is it just a special gift from heaven?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t say. But I do know that pure worship can only flow from a heart that has grasped the infinite worthiness of Christ. And the response to that Worthy One is the unconstrained outpouring of the heart to Him, whether in joy or in pain. And that is something of the majesty I hear in Zambian voices raised in worship and in prayer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Today I am leaving Lusaka and its traffic behind as I fly to the USA to join Jerry for a season of itineration. Every missionary understands the tearing of the heart that is felt as we say goodbye to those we have come to love and be loved by in the land of our calling. It’s yet another thing I can’t explain. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The singers and songs of Zambia will remain in my heart. Reminding me that the open doorway into the presence of our Great God is entered with a worshipping heart.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-16173340241880366502010-08-05T04:49:00.001-07:002010-08-05T04:49:56.846-07:00Twatotela<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">This morning we had our bags packed and were heading out the door to Chirundu, a small border town about two hours from Lusaka. Jerry and I visited Chirundu’s newly planted church for the first time a few months ago, and were struck by the remarkable spiritual hunger of the saints there. They sat on crude benches made from mud, and insisted we continue teaching from morning til evening. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">We weren’t invited to the pastor’s home for lunch, and later discovered why. They were destitute – taking only sugar-water for their midday meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">This same church has started a community school for sixty-something local children who can’t afford the government school. No trained teachers, no textbooks, not even a chalkboard – but a heart for children. Seems to me that’s something like faith, hope, and love.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">With grand plans for several days of ministry to children, youth, and adults, some friends and I were heading out the door to visit our Chirundu friends when the phone rang. The pastor’s twenty year old son had just died of cerebral malaria. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">We knelt to pray for them – Mrs. Mulenga, Linda, and I. I found myself starting to weep, and asking, “How long, O Lord?” How long must things be as they should not be? How long these assaults, this suffering? Mrs. Mulenga was weeping also. Mrs. Mulenga, who buried her husband a year ago.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">She led us in the song, “Twatotela Lesa” – “thank You Lord.” In that moment, it was hard to sing that song. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Thank You Lord” – for what? </i>For another needless death, in this land where life is so fragile? For unspeakable heartache, for this dear pastor’s family struggling to do Kingdom work? We prayed for some time, inviting Jesus’ presence into this sad situation, crying out for His Kingdom to come, for His sustaining mercy, for His name to be magnified. And as we poured out our hearts, His peace came.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">Afterwards Jerry and I were reflecting on how much our prayers, and our praying, have changed over the past two years. “We pray differently, don’t we?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“Yeah – we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel </i>so much<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>more acutely.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>And that brokenness, we are coming to realize, is the heart of prayer. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twatotela” </i>began rising in my heart again. We are thankful – not for the dark circumstances, but for the presence of Jesus, and the unfailing love of God, in the midst of them. There is a “fellowship of sharing in His suffering,” an intimacy with God that is found only in deep brokenness. In this sad place, and for this life-giving and transforming communion with Christ – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twatotela Lesa</i>.<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; tab-stops: 297.0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><!--EndFragment-->Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-55749564075679479802010-05-31T02:33:00.000-07:002010-05-31T02:35:06.239-07:00Some Thoughts on Hope<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">One might expect that in Africa, where life is wrought with hardship and uncertainty, hope would be in short supply. However, the very opposite is true. Here hope, at least among those who follow Jesus, is one thing that can be found in abundance.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">And I think that in this, the African Church has understood something of hope that most of us miss. Over the last two years since we lost our son Josiah, we have simultaneously grieved and tried to maintain hope that all of it would somehow be redeemed. But the challenge in such a loss is that one can become quite afraid of hope. This is simply because hope plants seeds of expectation, and if those expectations are not met, then one inevitably reaps a harvest of disappointment. In order to avoid more of the overwhelming disappointment with which we had become all too familiar, we learned to keep hope at arms length.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">As human beings living in a temporal world, we tend to be event driven. We measure our lives as a procession of events and we tend to face life’s challenges through the simple knowledge that time, as they say, marches on. What we are experiencing today will not last forever, and we look to have our present disappointments eventually eclipsed by things we anticipate in the future. Tomorrow’s expectations are the shelter under which we weather today’s storms.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">The problem with this approach, though, is that we end up building hope upon uncertainty. Tomorrow is always only a potential. It can never be a promise. Because of this, I have come to believe that God uses disappointments, suffering and catastrophe in our lives to move us out of an event oriented hope, and into a Person oriented hope. For as long as we hope in things that are tenuous, then we will never have genuine hope at all. We will only have the illusion of hope.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">Yet, our lives themselves are inherently tied to the clock and to temporality. From the day we’re born we begin our slow march toward the grave. Time is our constant stalker. And so nothing we can do can cause us to move from that illusory event-centered hope to a God centered hope. Only God himself can bring about that transformation. And the whole process begins with the loss of the events themselves. Only when the event in which we had hoped––whatever it may be––has been lost, and we have surrendered ourselves to its oppressing blows, do we begin to discover hope in God Himself. We are hoisted out of an event-centered hope only be being totally and desperately cast upon the mercy of Him who was hoisted on the cross. It is there at the cross that all our hopes find life, because it is there, and there alone, that we ourselves find life.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">At the cross, we truly begin to discover that, as the song says––“<i>our hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. We dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus name.”&nbsp;</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">In God alone, do we find hope that is worth having. This is because goodness and mercy are His very nature and therefore it is God’s nature––not some event that may or may not come, that is the promise to which we cling and the essence of genuine hope. And so, James’ sometimes perplexing admonition to “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds”––begins to make sense; “because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4).</span></div><div><br /></div></span></span>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-72171589782667366252010-04-27T23:44:00.000-07:002010-04-27T23:44:02.782-07:00Anonymous<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Anonymity can be hard to come by for an American living in Africa. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">As we drive through the shanty compounds, kids shout <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Mzungu, mzungu!”</i>––which roughly translates “hey what’s that crazy white guy doing here?” Here, there is no disappearing into the crowd, no blending into the scenery. We stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Thankfully though, Zambians are as gracious as a people could ever be, and make us feel right at home. They kindly ignore our ineptness with their language, forgive our social <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faux pas</i>, and generally treat us as one of them even though we come about as close to being one of them at times as we come to being a hippopotamus. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">It is strange to me that here in Zambia, where we Americans are often something between an odd curiosity and something curiously odd, I find myself longing for something I have seldom longed for in my life––namely anonymity!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">For the most part, when I day dream (and I often do), I dream of rather grand things. I dream of saving the world, or of discovering a cure for professional wrestling, or of harnessing a natural form of clean energy, like those gigantic blasts of wind generated by certain elected officials. I have big dreams!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But I don’t ever really recall dreaming of anonymity. I remember in fifth grade, when our teacher had us all write down what we wanted to be when we grew up, I said I wanted to be a comedian. She thought that was pretty hilarious. I guess it was.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">The whole idea of anonymity though, seems completely contrary to human nature. Facebook, if it is anything at all, is the ultimate anti-anonymity device. Through the magic that is Facebook, we can now make public our deepest and most underdeveloped thoughts, to a bunch of people we hardly know. And they will very likely, “like” it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">We watch American Idol, not to see who will be the “next big star,” but because that show has a way of breathing life into our own clandestine hopes for notoriety. Because if it could happen to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> guy…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">The truth is, all of us are like Jesus’ disciples James and John, coming to Jesus with our hat in our hand, asking for seats at the head table (Mark 10:37). We are pretty attached to the notion that significance and status go hand-in-hand. And so, we make our way through life trying to maintain that ever-so-delicate balance between outward humility and inward ambition. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But the reality of the matter is that true significance never comes from our achievements. Significance comes only because Jesus gives it to us. He gave us significance at creation––when he created us in His image. And, he gave us significance at the cross, when he died for our sins. None of our achievements would ever matter in the least bit were it not for the fact that we were created in God’s image, and redeemed at the cross. Because apart from those two events, man is but dust, destined for the waste bin. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Our only hope for true significance, that is––significance that will endure throughout the ages, significance that is not faddish, or fading, but that is both fixed and forever, is to lose ourselves in the plans of Christ, and to embrace anonymity. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">As Jesus said, “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 10:39).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><!--EndFragment-->Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-64559948566126845972010-04-09T07:08:00.000-07:002010-04-09T07:08:51.890-07:00Stuck in the Mud!<!--StartFragment--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">God always knows precisely where we are.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">This was illustrated quite dramatically for me recently after preaching a sermon on Jeremiah 38. In the passage, Jeremiah is lowered into a dry cistern by some unsavory characters who don’t like what he is preaching––even though he’s only preaching precisely what God had told him to say. The key verse reads:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><i>So they took Jeremiah and put him into the cistern of Malkijah, the king’s son, which was in the courtyard of the guard. They lowered Jeremiah by ropes into the cistern; it had no water in it, only mud, </i><b><i>and Jeremiah sank down into the mud.</i></b>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b><i>Jer. 38:6</i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> &nbsp;&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">In the end, Jeremiah is rescued and hauled out of the cistern, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">his time in the cistern ends up shaping his future ministry.</b> For he later prophecies to the King saying: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><i>All the women left in the palace of the king of Judah will be brought out to the officials of the king of Babylon. Those women will say to you: “‘They misled you and overcame you — those trusted friends of yours. </i><b><i>Your feet are sunk in the mud</i></b><i>; your friends have deserted you.’</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Jer. 38:22<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">After the service, we found out a most incredible thing that had happened to the pastor and his family.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">A few years prior, the pastor of this church and his wife had been living in a house that was situated sort of in a gully, at the bottom of two steep hills. During a particularly heavy rain one evening, the pastor, his wife, and their four children were all sitting in their living room. Suddenly, there was a loud crash of lightening outside and the power went out. A few minutes later, they heard a loud noise, and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">a massive wave of water and mud </b>caming crashing through their front door. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Within minutes they were up to their chests in water and up to their knees in mud and garbage that had washed in from the street. </b>They were completely stuck and were unable to move. The could do nothing but <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">stand in that water and mud all night long</b>, until morning when someone came and rescued them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">That night was a night of both miracles and misery. Had the power not gone out, they would have surely been electrocuted. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">But, because of the mud and water, they lost everything! </b>All of their money (most Zambians can’t afford banks), all of their clothes, all of their furniture, family pictures, keepsakes. All of it, gone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">In preparing for my sermon that week, I had no idea how relevant it would be to this pastor and his wife. I could not have possibly known. I had only recently come across this passage in my daily devotions and was moved by it and thought it would be an encouragement to those going through hard times.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And now that I know what this family went through, I am vividly reminded that God does not forget, that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">he always knows precisely where we are,</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">even when we’re stuck in the mud.</b> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>And just like Jeremiah, God often uses our time in the mud to shape our life and our ministry for the future. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And perhaps, that formation could never really take place if our feet always stayed firmly planted on solid ground. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Today the family is in a new house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>A lady who saw them being rescued on television gave them her furniture. The pastor’s wife was recently healed of what appeared to be a terminal illness. A few months ago she was in a hospice, and thus today, they are <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">out of the mud, in more ways than one.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b>It is likely, that they, like all of us, will be in the mud again some day.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But I am increasingly convinced that truly effective ministry flows from primarily two things: our time with the Lord, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">and our time in the mud.</b> And we should be careful not to neglect the importance of either one.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><!--EndFragment-->Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-7604509446250128622010-03-07T01:56:00.000-08:002010-03-07T01:56:18.188-08:00The Hope of Heaven<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;">We often see and hear about the ugly side of Africa.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Turn to your favorite news source, go to the international section, and under “Africa” you are most likely to see stories about Jacob Zuma dancing around in a loin cloth or Robert Mugabe declaring his willingness to have free and fair elections (so long as “free and fair” mean he is free to have the opposition arrested whether they think its fair or not). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">News outlets give you the idea that the whole of Africa is an endless parade of war, corruption, famine, and AIDS when, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Even up close Africa <b>sometimes seems</b> like a place seething with despair and tragedy, where beauty has all but vanished. Every time I drive through the shanty compounds, and see children hauling buckets of water on their heads and women bent over sweeping the dirt around their tiny mud-brick homes, <b>I wonder if these people have ever seen anything truly beautiful in their lives.</b> Their whole world seems blanketed in brokenness. It seems all they know, and all they have ever known, is a world of dirt and disrepair. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">But these are the thoughts of an outsider. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><b>It takes about five minutes with a Zambian to realize that they know beauty in ways we probably never will.</b> Today while teaching a class on the second coming of Christ, we had taken our morning tea break, and as the students were getting their tea and slice of bread, they spontaneously broke into song about heaven.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">They sang in vernacular, and at first I wasn’t sure what the song was about. But I knew it was a joyful song. One young pastor started it all. With a toothy grin, he just started singing as he was pouring his tea. Without hesitation, and without waiting for an invitation, the others immediately joined in. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">I sat in rapt amazement as eight students suddenly became beacons of joy and seemed to comprehend something of heaven far beyond what I ever have. And my earlier question then and there turned on me, and I wondered If I <b>had ever really known the meaning of true beauty</b>. Because beauty was right there in front of me, and I had almost missed it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">It is true that in some ways Africa is a broken and troubled continent. But brokenness and trouble may not be the enemies we often think they are. For at no time do we put as much hope in heaven as when we are troubled and broken. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And, from watching my Zambian friends, <b>I am increasingly convinced that the more we invest hope in the life to come, the more beauty we bring to the life we presently live.</b></div><!--EndFragment-->Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-56478589624519110892010-02-08T04:25:00.000-08:002010-02-08T04:27:47.243-08:00Wall Fences<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">As missionaries in Zambia, we live behind high wall fences. These barriers are somewhat of a catch-22. They provide a sense of security, and an equal sense of being an inmate. They are both protective and prohibitive. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Personally, I have a sort of a love-hate relationship with our walled fences. I hate them because coming and going is never as easy as I want it be. And, yet, I love them because frankly, there are times when I want to escape from Africa––from the kamikaze mini-bus drivers, from the poverty that seeps through at every seam and crevice of life, and from the needs that I know I cannot meet. I also want, I suppose, to escape from myself sometimes, because I realize that I <b>don’t always <i>want</i> to meet the needs here. </b>There are times, when my own needs seem more important.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">There is a part of me that is forever gazing inward, focusing on <i>my</i> goals, <i>my</i> dreams, <i>my</i> hopes, <i>my</i> desires. And yet, Africa makes it very hard to think too much about any of those things, much less ask God for them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Can I <i>really</i> pray, <b>Dear Lord, help me find personal fulfillment, </b>and by the way, <b>help my Zambian friends have full stomachs?<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Compassion is a wearying thing and it has a way of unveiling our selfishness in an irrefutable way. Visiting the sick forces us to visit ourselves. It reminds us that no matter how loving and kind we may think ourselves to be, our greatest love and kindness is ultimately reserved for ourselves. I suppose this is what Jesus meant then when he said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 19:19).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Through the prophet Isaiah, God said:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then <b>your light</b> will rise in the darkness, and <b>your night</b> will become like the noonday.&nbsp; The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; <b>you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls</b>, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. (Isaiah 58:10-12)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">I can’t help but think, after reading this passage that my desire to retreat behind our walled fences, is in some way a reflection of my own broken-walled life. By that, I mean that it is my own shortcomings, my own failures (real or perceived) that are the driving force behind the “my” mentality I sometimes struggle with. Yet, the remedy, according Isaiah, is not to hind behind walls, but to become one who repairs them. And that we accomplish, in acts of compassion and service.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Somehow, as we loose ourselves in caring for our fellow humans, we find the wholeness we so desperately seek.&nbsp;</div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-56877478980186153412010-01-22T08:42:00.000-08:002010-01-22T08:42:43.569-08:00Guest Blogger: Jess Bousa "The Discipleship Dare"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"></span><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">My friend Jess Bousa (he and I were in Teen Challenge together, and were room mates at Valley Forge Christian College) has written a book called the <i>Discipleship Dare. </i>Like Jess, I am convinced that discipleship––genuine discipleship, is perhaps the greatest need in the Church today. Many thousands of college students, in American and around the world leave the Christian faith every year, not because the arguments against Christianity are better than those for it, but because Christianity has never really become <i>their </i>faith. We hope to one day use this book as a resource in Zambia for youth discipleship. Check out the link for the <i>The Discipleship Dare </i>below, and consider if this might be helpful to you, your church, or someone you know. God bless you as you follow Christ.</span></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Arial; font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Jerry</span></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;">By Jess Bousa (Guest Blogger), author of&nbsp;<em>The Discipleship Dare: Living Dangerously for God</em><br /></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;">The American Church is in the middle of a discipleship crisis. In Dallas Willard’s book,&nbsp;<em>The Great Omission</em>, he concludes that the Church is full of undiscipled disciples. Instead of making disciples, we have made converts and instead of baptizing them into the Trinitarian community, we have baptized them into church membership. When the discipleship process is reduced down to converts and church membership, it often takes the real challenge out of following Jesus through our everyday lives. Without the challenge to be pushed to the Biblical standard of discipleship, the world will be full of unChristian Christians, which is the general consensus of outsiders to the Christian faith the Barna Group discovered in their extensive research project reported in the book,<em>UnChristian.</em><br /></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;">Marines are challenged to thrive not only survive at all times no matter the costs. Every year approximately 38,000 Marines receive their basic training, which is far more challenging than any other branch of the military. Most Marines testify that going through the twelve weeks of boot camp to gain entrance into the Marines is the most challenging thing they ever had to do in their lives. There is no such thing as an unMarine Marine. If the Marines were filled with such a person, they would not be known as being the most elite armed forces in the Military. Their reputation is the result of their training process. Without a training process that challenges every area of life, they would not perform the tasks necessary.<br /></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;">The process determines the product. What if the process of training disciples in the local church has been sidetracked as a result of mass producing discipleship for the crowds? What if discipleship starts and ends with the personal development of a few? Without a tool that builds a bridge from the preaching and teaching in the local church to the real life of a disciple through the week, “real disciples” will continue to be sidelined.<br /></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;">To combat the discipleship crisis in the American Church, I created an experience called:&nbsp;<em>The Discipleship Dare</em>. It is a journey that lasts for 40 days. It can be used alone or in the context of a group. I designed it to jumpstart the lifestyle of a new disciple or revive the lifestyle of a veteran disciple. It can be used as a companion guide for a sermons series, small groups or Sunday School classes. What if the biggest risk in life is not taking any risks for discipleship? I dare you to experience the 40 day&nbsp;<em>Discipleship Dare</em>&nbsp;challenge and dare others to do the same!<br /></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16pt;"><strong>For Free Resources &amp; To Purchase,&nbsp;<em>The Discipleship Dare,</em><br /></strong></span><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 10px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16pt;"><strong>Please Visit @&nbsp;<a href="http://www.TheDiscipleshipDare.com/" style="color: #cc0000; text-decoration: underline;">www.TheDiscipleshipDare.com/</a>&nbsp;</strong></span><br /></div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-23232352512520262632010-01-16T02:50:00.000-08:002010-01-16T02:50:03.182-08:00Friends<!--StartFragment--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Friendship without self-interest is one of the rare and beautiful things of life.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">—James F. Byrnes<o:p></o:p></i><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Finding truly good friends can be like trying to find hope at a pessimists convention. Good friends are a true rarity. They are the diamonds of human relationships. They are usually forged under pressure, and often emerge from what was at one time as plain and common as coal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">So what is it about true, genuine friends that make them matter to us so much? The short answer is––they care. They care enough to listen, cry, mourn, and rejoice, even amidst their own crying, mourning and rejoicing. True friends have a way of setting themselves aside, putting their agendas on hold, in order to be with us. And it’s really that, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">the ability to be with us</b>, that is the mark of true friends. <br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Pseudo-friends and wanna-be friends can be around us, near to us, in our vicinity, but they are almost never really with us. They tend to come to us with the desire to show us something of themselves. They want us to notice their learnedness, their eloquence, their strength. Genuine friends, though, come to us and bring only a desire to hear us, love us, and show us something of ourselves. Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote:<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him.<o:p></o:p></i><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">True friends show us that we matter as people, that we have value inherent in ourselves. And, this is most often accomplished not in displays of strength, but in displays of weakness. <br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Our best friends, often emerge from our shared experiences. Recently we were in South Africa at retreat for missionaries, and I couldn’t help but feel an almost tangible––something, between all of us. Some of these other missionaries were close friends. Others, I had never met before. And, yet when we gathered for worship, or simply for a meal, there was a unity among us, a bond that was uncontainable in either our persons, or in the spaces in which we gathered. It was a bond that transcended us, and refreshed us.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">And it wasn’t just that we were in the company of one another. It was that we were in the company of one another, and simultaneously in the company of Christ. Because only by encountering Someone—namely Christ, who can genuinely help us to become what we were created to be, can we truly find joy in being ourselves.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">In his book “A Reasonable Faith: A Case for Christianity in a Secular World,” Tony Campolo argues that secularized man longs for humanness, for a sense of self-actualization. Campolo describes how as a sociology teacher at University of Pennsylvania he was constantly confronted with a single question by his students (sometimes in various forms). The question was, “What does it mean to be human and how can humanness be achieved?”<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Campolo asked a student what he meant by being human, to which the student responded, “It means to be loving, infinitely loving; sensitive, infinitely sensitive; aware, totally aware; empathetic, completely empathetic; forgiving, graciously forgiving. I could go on but I would only be elaborating on the obvious.” Campolo then asked the student how it is that he came to have a knowledge of these traits even in a limited fashion. “Were you born with them? Were they part of your biological makeup?” The student grew agitated at the questioning, knowing that Campolo knew full well where the traits came from.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">“You know that whatever qualities of humanness I possess are obtained by the process of socialization. If I am forgiving, it is because I associated with forgiving people and took on their traits and likeness.” The student argued that Campolo, as a professor of sociology knew all of this. So why the line of questioning? What Campolo was trying to do was to remind the student that “Socialization is the process whereby a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">homo sapiens</i> becomes human.” He reminded the student that his entire being was the product of interaction with other people. Had he been separated at birth from all people and raised by wolves he would have none of the qualities that he possesses that mark him as human. Ultimately the conversation led to the student despairing that if his humanness, his achieving his full potential depended upon his ongoing interaction with someone who possessed in superior measures all the forms of humanness (love, compassion, emphathy, awareness of others) then he was doomed, because no such person exists. With this, Campolo directed the students attention to Christ, as FULLY human, fully present, and desiring just such a relationship. The student was converted to Christianity.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">This, I believe, is what missions is all about. We go to places like Africa, with the message of God’s friendship (John 15:13-15), we go to share in the struggles of our brothers and sisters around the world, because in sharing the same experiences in the presence and company of Christ, we all are “born again.”<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">Apart from Christ, friendships can only help us to become like the person we are friends with, and help them to become like us. But in Christ, our friendships shape us all into the image of the One we serve. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">imagio dei</i>, the image of God, imprinted upon mankind from the very beginning, is revealed in our love for one another, and in our simultaneous love for God. It is revealed when we sacrifice for one another and give of ourselves because of the inherent value of one created in God’s image.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">As Paul writes, “We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body</b>. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body” (2 Cor. 4:10-11).<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;">If we truly understand that we have friendship with God, through Christ, then we can begin to comprehend the immeasurable importance of being a friend ourselves. This is not only what humankind most desperately wants, it is what humankind most desperately needs. And Christians, ought to be the world’s largest supplier.<br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0in;"><br /></div><!--EndFragment-->Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-5330392279441368812009-11-06T03:37:00.000-08:002009-11-06T03:37:08.280-08:00Poetic Justice<div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-align: center;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><i></i></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i>There is a noticeable lack of poetic justice in the world.</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It seems more often than not, bad things happen to good people, and even worse things happen to very good people. It mystifies me that the very best people I know have been through some of the most terrible tragedies. While on the other hand, very bad people, those who seem completely bankrupt of any sort of responsibility, love, or human decency, often are rewarded with financial success and good health.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Rarely it seems, do people get what they deserve.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was reading an article in a Malawian newspaper today and the story was describing how foreign investors here are taking advantage of local workers by underpaying them and overworking them. The Labor Minister was interviewed in the article, and he mentioned that some workers are made to work in cold conditions (presumably food storage freezers). He said with apparent concern, “They can get a disease known as cold frost.”&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Ok, so maybe his terminologies leave something to be desired. But, nonetheless, it was refreshing to see the government standing up for the downtrodden. That so seldom happens in Africa.</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What is far more common in Africa, and elsewhere, is what the article was describing: unscrupulous and unsavory people becoming wealthy by exploiting hard working and honest people.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Some would say this type of thing points to the absence of God. If there was a God, they argue, then the tables would be turned and people would get what they deserve.</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But, perhaps, people really do get what they deserve.</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Psalm 73 describes a journey – a journey in which the Psalmist goes from anguish over the apparent prosperity of the wicked, to rejoicing over the reality of his own less tangible, but far more genuine and lasting prosperity. Psalm 73 is a poem that addresses an issue which most people who try to serve God probably struggle with at some point: that the righteous seem to suffer, while the unrighteous seem to prosper in everything. In the opening lines, the Psalmist says:</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; min-height: 15.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Surely God is good to Israel,<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">to those who are pure in heart.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">I had nearly lost my foothold.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For I envied the arrogant<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;">And later, he writes:</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />Surely in vain have I kept my heart pure;<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">in vain have I washed my hands in innocence.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>All day long I have been plagued;<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">I have been punished every morning.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If I had said, “I will speak thus,”<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">I would have betrayed your children.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -54.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I tried to understand all this,<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">it was oppressive to me. <span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><br /></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We feel the heart anguish of the writer as he honestly struggles with his emotions, while simultaneously being uncomfortable with what he feels. He faces a conundrum. He feels what he feels, and yet what he feels does not feel quite right. Most of us can relate. He sees the evil perpetrated by the wicked, and yet the wicked seem to get everything, except what they deserve.</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At some point in his wrestling, the writer finds his way into God’s presence, His sanctuary. In verse seventeen the writer says:<br /></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span>till I entered the sanctuary of God;<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 9.0px 72.0px; text-indent: -27.0px;">then I understood their final destiny.<br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>It is here, in God’s presence, that clarity comes. The writer begins to realize that what we see is not always the greatest measure of reality, that there are other truths which we don’t so readily see – at least not on our own. That’s why Paul admonishes “we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:18).<br /></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There is just something about the presence of God. And the point of Psalm 73 is that only there, in God’s presence, can we attain a proper perspective on the world we live in, and a proper understanding of our own reality. When we are&nbsp; near to God, when we focus our attention and affection on Him, His divine Presence has a way of scattering the illusions that often plague our thoughts, and illuminating the truth about our existence. And we realize that the prosperity of the wicked is instead a prison; those things which seem to be sources of delight for those who reject God, are ultimately the source of their own destruction.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In God’s presence we discover the infinite value of an intimate God. We discover our own immeasurable prosperity in Emmanuel – God with us. And then, we begin to appreciate the fact that maybe the wicked really do get what they deserve, and that we have gotten far more than we deserve.&nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The wicked want a life free from God, and to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, God gives it to them. But for the righteous, our infinite and ultimate reward is God Himself. &nbsp;</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And in wrestling with his frustrations over the wicked, perhaps, the writer of the Psalm is reminded that</span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><i>Truth is best found, with our faces to the ground.</i></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><i></i></span><br /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Times New Roman; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="vertical-align: 1.0px;"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></i>The words of this Psalm then are for all of us who struggle with the reality of an unjust world. It reminds us to focus not on the seeming pleasures and ease of life for those who do not know God, but rather on the genuine joy that we have, because we do.</span><br /></div>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-14088952176285554292009-10-13T10:21:00.000-07:002009-10-13T10:24:09.124-07:00A Little Faith<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This week we have been reminded on a few occasions how much we take certain things for granted.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">A few days ago, I woke up and turned on the shower, only to discover that there was no hot water. The problem, as it turned out, was our water heater, which is a home-made version, fashioned from a fifty gallon oil drum. The element and thermostat had gone bad, as it does about every 4-5 months because parts here are made in China, and apparently China doesn’t put quite as much effort into their elements and thermostats as they do into their Olympics.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And so, the morning had me scurrying around town (and smelling a bit ripe as temps in Lusaka are hovering around the mid 90’s lately), looking for the spare parts. The first place I went to had the element, but not the thermostat. So, they sent me to a place down the road that they assured me would have what I needed. When I arrived at that place, I was told they never carried that type stuff. Never had. Never will. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Then, in a moment of desperation, I contemplated breaking “Jerry’s Golden Rule of Driving in Lusaka,” which states NEVER EVER EVER, Under Any Circumstances, Go Downtown at Lunchtime On a Weekday! But, I was desperate though, and the thought of taking cold showers for the next few days (weeks?) was enough to cause me to seriously contemplate taking these very insane measures.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">In a moment of clarity, I changed my mind and headed home to see if there might not be another solution. Luckily, one of our landlord’s workers was able to pilfer what I needed from some old parts in the garage. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The whole incident though made me realize how much I take showers for granted. I mean, most mornings, I wake up, stumble toward the bathroom and turn on the water, and then, while still standing, take a short nap while I wait for the water to reach a nice, even temperature. Most mornings, I don’t even think about being thankful for the ability to take a shower. I just take one, and go on about my day. <b>But when something is just there almost every day of your life, and then suddenly it’s not there, it has a way of making you take notice.</b> </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">In Zambia, there are often shortages of one thing or another. During droughts, there are shortages of maize and many become malnourished and susceptible to illness. Today, there is a shortage of petrol, and cars are lined up at local filling stations, reminiscent of the 70’s in America. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">People who have mused over the recent and phenomenal growth of the church in Africa (in 1990 about 9% of the population in Africa was Christian; today about 45% are Christian!), have pointed to a variety of reasons. Some have said that Africans are inherently religious, and that Christianity provides a framework for relating to the increasing presence of Western influence on the continent. Of course, those who would say that, forget that Christianity was African long before it was Western. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Personally, I think that the reason for the rapid growth of Christianity in Africa, is because the nature of life in Africa lends itself to understanding biblical truths, far more so than the nature of life in America. Africa understands that we live in a broken down world.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">In America, I think we have a very hard time living out the mandate to “fix our eyes, not on what is seen, but on what is unseen,” and understanding that “what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal,” (2 Cor. 4:18). <b>We think that by trusting in what we can see, feel and touch, that we are demonstrating our superior intellect. </b>We tell ourselves that to do otherwise, is to believe in magic or fairy tales.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And yet, the world around us is constantly reminding us of its temporal tendencies. Tsunamis wipe entire villages off the map in an instant. Automobile accidents claim the lives of those we love without warning. Our trusted homes, in which we invest so much time and care, are easily reduced to ruble by a tornado, hurricane, fire, or two year old. And, we have all recently been made aware that our financial security is far less secure than we would like. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">A casual glance at the evening news reminds us that <b>the world is a fragile place</b>. Or, as Paul says, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning, as in the pains of childbirth, right up to the present time,” (Rom. 8:22). And so, is it really <b>a demonstration of our superior cognitive abilities</b> that we would trust in what is clearly untrustworthy? Is it really that smart to put stock in things that “moth and rust destroy” rather than storing up for ourselves “treasures in heaven,” (Matt. 6:19-20)? </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It seems that we have a hard time grasping that until some unfortunate circumstance forces us to take a cold shower, or wait hours in line for gasoline, something that just a few days we accomplished on our lunch hour, along with forty thousand other things. Until those things that we have taken for granted have suddenly and unexpectedly vanished, we seldom consider their truly fleeting nature. But when our trusted comforts and assumptions suddenly get swept away, we usually become quite willing to go running from place to place, searching for the solution to our problems, and willing to break our golden rules in the process, whatever they might be. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Remember how churches, synagogues, and mosques, were packed on the days immediately following 9/11? And, how as soon as it became clear that the threat had passed, those places of worship returned to their former state of less than overflowing?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Maybe the best thing that can happen to us, is for things to begin to break down every now and then, for the wheels to come off the cart, so that we can be reminded that there are destinations that can’t be reached with cash or credit card, that reality extends beyond the tangible, that the vast majority of the iceberg will always be hidden to those who refuse to venture from the surface.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">No, there is nothing foolish about faith. In fact, most of us have more faith than we realize. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We just have it things that don’t merit it. </span></p>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-89928122430108682862009-10-01T00:48:00.001-07:002009-10-01T00:48:59.406-07:00Listen<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Recently, as I was driving to the Bible school where I was teaching, I had to drop Paula off at another Bible school where she was teaching, and we drove past a large, dirt football (soccer) field and a large dumpster that sits next to it. The area around the dumpster was strewn with litter and debris, and almost every day a half dozen children could be seen digging through the waste, looking for, who knows exactly what; possibly the makings of their next toy, or used plastic bags that can be wound together for a football, or maybe nothing at all. Maybe they were just looking because its what they see everyday, and their curiosity got the best of them.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">These days, a good five months since the last rain, the ground in Zambia is as hard as concrete, and the winds are blowing up dust to almost blinding degrees. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Being in the shanty compounds of Lusaka always leaves me with an odd mixture of emotions. On the one hand, I can’t help but think how glad I am that I grew up in America, in a neighborhood that had clean sidewalks, and where all the houses had lawns that, if not pristine, were at least fairly well kept and quite usable for a game of tag, or hide–and–seek. Yet, at the same time, as soon as I think <b>that</b> thought, I find myself feeling guilty that things were so easy for us growing up, compared to what life is like here.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I try to imagine what it would be like to have lived in a neighborhood like these shanty compounds, my whole life; and yet, honestly, <b>I find myself unable to do so. </b>I find it hard to really imagine what its like<b> </b>to have always only ever known dusty, dirt roads, never paved ones, to have only ever had makeshift toys, never the store bought variety, to have pushed around old tires, rather than being able to ride bicycles. It seems that I just completely lack any common point of reference. There is no framework within my own experiences for such an existence.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And I’ve come to think that even though we can get in our 4x4’s and go where people are here, we can seldom, by ourselves, really <b>be where they are at</b>. We can drive the same roads they drive, we can walk across the same trash strewn streets, we can go to their churches, and we can teach in their schools, but it takes much more than being <b>where </b>people are, to understand <b>who</b> they are.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">That, only happens when we pause long enough to <b>listen</b>.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Listening, has not always been my greatest strength. Maybe it’s ADD. I don’t know. And the thing is, I really do try to listen (most of the time), but somewhere between a person opening their mouth to speak, and those words actually reaching my ears, there are roughly 40,000 other things that are equally vying for my attention.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Now, in all honesty, I don’t think I am entirely to blame for that. Yes, its partly my fault, in that I have an attention span about as long as this sentence. But, that aside, many people seem to think that the point of a conversation is to win, <b>and that one wins by saying the most consecutive words without pausing</b>. Sort of the machine gun approach. What I can’t quite figure out, is why those of us who struggle to pay attention are often put on medication, while our rambling counterparts are left alone. But, that’s getting off the subject.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Truthfully, I think the ability to <b>really listen</b> is genuinely a human malady, something that few of us are really good at. I mean, think about your friends who are good listeners. Those that are, stand out! And the reason <b>that person</b> stands out, is because <b>that quality </b>is so rare! </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I mean let’s be honest. The question, “How are you doing?” is most often simply a launching pad for “Let me tell you how I’m doing.” </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And yet, listening is a crucial part of the Christian life. Our ability to know God, and to be transformed by him, begins with our ability to listen to Him. And our ability to serve God, is directly related to our ability to listen to others. John’s Gospel quotes Jesus as saying, “ It is written in the Prophets: ‘They will all be taught by God.’ <b>Everyone who listens to the Father</b> and learns from him comes to me.” (John 6:45). And one of the first things we see in the life of Jesus, is him, sitting at the feet of others, <b>and listening</b> (Luke 2:46).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The degree to which we have listened to God, will directly determine the degree to which we become like him. Unless the word of God penetrates our hearts, unless we allow ourselves to believe it, not because we like it, or because it sounds nice, but because it flows from Eternal Truth, then we can never participate in a relationship with God. And unless we have begun to know God, then our <b>own listening will always be filtered through our own agenda.</b> We will listen, in order to have a chance to speak. Our objective will be to display our wit, or wisdom, to gun down the other person with our vast amount of knowledge and expertise.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But <b>when we have listened to God</b>, when we have, like Mary, sat at the feet of Jesus because we’ve understood the inherent value in doing so, <b>then we become empowered to truly listen to others.</b> Because then, and only then, are we able to hear, not with our own ears, or even our own heart, but with the heart of God, whose Spirit has come to reside within us (Rom. 8:9).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And even if we can’t fully relate to growing up in a shanty compound, <b>we can hear the cry of those who have grown up there</b>, a cry that longs to be heard, because we ourselves have heard from the One who really has something worthwhile to say. </span></p>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-80448563838620768442009-09-12T06:29:00.000-07:002009-09-12T06:31:07.331-07:00Lost in the Shuffle<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I have come to the conclusion that in Africa, the purpose of an immigration office is to force you to consider how much you really want to be in <b>that particular country</b>. In fact, I’m pretty sure that some immigration offices sincerely hope that if they make things difficult <b>enough</b> for you, you will eventually just give up and go home and save them a lot of paperwork.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Yesterday I had to make a trip to the immigration office in downtown Lusaka, for what should have been a simple thing: picking up our work permits.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">As it turned out, that “simple thing” turned into three hours of the most agonizingly painful test of endurance I’ve ever encountered. It was as though I was Lance Armstrong, and the immigration office was the French Alps, except that (thankfully) I wasn’t wearing bike shorts, and the immigration office was only breathtaking in the way that a canister of tear gas is breathtaking.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The problem, was that they couldn’t find my file. After standing in line for an hour, I finally was able to hand the guy my receipt, and he began looking through stack of folders piled behind him. When he couldn’t come up with my file, he put my receipt on the bottom of the stack. This is completely in keeping with standard government operating procedures in Zambia, which states that, “a problem is a problem only so long as you are aware of it being a problem, and you are only required to be aware of it, if you are looking directly at thing which is potentially problematic. Otherwise, it may or may not be a problem at all.” </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">After watching my receipt get shuffled to the bottom of the stack several times, I finally approached the guy to find out what the problem was. He said my file was not there, and then asked me a very important question. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">“Is it in the book?”</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">You see, before you can pick up your work permit, you have to verify that it is indeed ready, and you do that by checking a log book that is kept near the front door of the office. I had done all of this (or, at least some friends had done it for me) and so I knew that our permits were logged in on August 25. Nevertheless, the immigration official was skeptical and escorted me over to the book to have a look for himself. When we found my name entered, the immigration official looked genuinely surprised, and immediately returned to the stack of files and began searching with a renewed commitment. Within minutes the file had been found, and I was on my way home, work permits in hand.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Looking back, I find it intriguing that nothing I could say to the official would convince him that my work permit <b>must</b> be there. Not until he saw for himself that it was “written in the book,” was he even remotely open to a possibility which he had not <b>really</b> considered before – namely, that it actually was there somewhere!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">What amazed me about the whole incident, was the immigration official’s inherent trust in the <b>integrity of the book</b>! If it’s in the book, he clearly believed, then the work permit must be there!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Reflecting on this incident has made me think about my own devotional life, which lately has sort of been on a lull, and about my own views of <b>the Book</b> we Christians hold so dear. It seems I go through seasons regarding my time with the Lord, and some of those seasons are more often characterized, in all honesty, by a sort of going through the motions than by a wholehearted effort to hear and receive from the Lord. At times, I think this happens when my Bible reading has me at places in scripture that are more laborious to read – such as the lists of names in the opening chapters of Chronicles, or when the immediate connection between my life and that which the text is describing is not plainly obvious. But sometimes, I think this happens simply because I begin to lose a sense of the Bible’s inherent authority and ultimate importance. Not that I do this intentionally (or admit to it easily), but if I honestly evaluate the time I spend reading the Bible as compared to the time I spend reading other things, well, my actions speak for themselves.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But if the Bible is anything at all, it is inherently authoritative! And yet, I can only discover that authority if I approach it believing that to be so. The famous theologian Karl Barth once said that the printed pages of the Bible do not constitute the word of God by themselves, but that they become the Word of God when they are preached and believed. And I think what Barth was getting at was that when it comes to the Word of God, it all starts with our approach. Approach it as a collection of ancient writings ordered and arranged by men of antiquity, and you will find it to be little more than a fantastic collection of poetry, history and sagely advice. But approach it as it truly is, as the word of God, and you will be changed, broken, and empowered by it as the Spirit of God from whom those words originated, leads you into all truth. It’s very much like my friend at the immigration office. He would have never searched again through the mountainous stacks of folders, had he not had confidence in the authority of the book!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">In fact, this is similar to the point Jesus was making when he was talking to those who refused to listen to him. He said, “And the Father who sent me has himself testified concerning me. You have never heard his voice nor seen his form, nor does his word dwell in you, for you do not believe the one he sent. You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life,” (John 5:37–40). And, “He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God,” (John 8:47).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">In this present age (which, is probably not unlike most every other age that preceded it), the truth often seems obscured by political agendas and personal interests. For instance, I am often amazed at how my friends on different sides of the political fence can see a particular current event in such <b>vastly different ways</b>. What is disastrous to one, is glorious to another, (in fact, I’m fairly certain that if all my Facebook friends ever ended up in the same room, WWIII would ensue).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But in this time of wearying banter in which the <b>genuine truth</b> seems lost in the shuffle more often than not, I am reminded of what a wonderful thing it is to have a source for truth that is <b>never </b>flavored by partisanship, or selfish ambitions, but rather flows from the One who himself <b>is</b> “the way, the truth, and the life,” and whose <b>only agenda</b> is my wholeness.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And when my devotional time is at a lull, what I need to be reminded of, is that I sit down, not with a book, but with <b>the Truth</b>, that what I read are not words, but <b>a Way</b>, and that what I receive is not information, but <b>Life</b>!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-8787944613108565942009-08-16T05:39:00.000-07:002009-08-16T05:57:11.373-07:00When He ComesThis week Jerry and I celebrated 4 years in marriage – four precious years of zero regrets and immeasurable love and gratefulness for each other. This week also marks one year since we committed our son Josiah into the arms of Jesus. It has been the longest year of our lives. We know we are in the process of being redefined and resurrected by God. The journey is far from over, but we’re on the road.<br /><br />Although we thought we already knew such things, what we’re really learning is this: <em>“Trust Him at all times, O people, pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge”</em> (Ps. 62:5). We’ve poured out a lot of things – pain, tears, anger, disappointment, and questions, but also, our faith, love, and worship. That faith and worship is of a different sort than it was a year ago, but not less sincere. Quite the contrary. We are more real, more weak, more broken and more alive all at the same time.<br /><br />God in His goodness has both Jerry and I doing something we love this month – teaching at the Bible Schools. Jerry is presently at the Extension Training Center, and I’m at the Assemblies of God school. One of my favorite things about coming here to teach is the chapel services. There’s just an indescribable fullness and depth in worshipping and interceding with our Zambian brothers and sisters. Thursday morning there were just seven of us present, in that big church, and Pastor Mwanza led in worship. We sang the good old “Alleluia” song. And to the same tune we started singing “He is mighty,” a capella, in simple harmonies. We must have sung “He is mighty” through at least seven times. And in that big church, with a handful of people, singing that simple old song, <em>the presence of the Lord came</em>, and we began to truly worship.<br /><br />How does one describe the presence of the Lord? He comes and lifts us out of our smallness, our heaviness, our weakness – and gives us a glimpse of His incomparable glory, a taste of His infinite love. And suddenly we find ourselves no longer mindful of “prayer requests” – but of <em>the greatness of God</em>.<br /><br />And I couldn’t help but feel amazed at the wonder of it all. A small, struggling Bible College. Seven needy people (teacher included). <em>And the glory of God. </em><br /><br />His presence changes everything – our standards, our self-importance, our interests, our perspective.<br /><br />Sure wish ya’ll could join us for chapel.Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-43471685473518645412009-07-26T05:59:00.000-07:002009-07-26T06:05:40.118-07:00Healthcare Reform<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This past week I have been teaching a class on church history in one of the Bible schools we work with in Lusaka. And I love church history, because it reminds me that for every person who has ever represented a gross corruption of the Gospel, for every big–haired, dollar–eyed, televangelist who has confused “take up your cross” with “take out your wallet,” there have been thousands over the centuries who did indeed do the former, and gave everything for the sake of proclaiming Christ.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Yes, there have been the horrible chapters in Christian history of the Crusades and the Inquisitions, but there have also been many, many glorious chapters of transforming hope, and selfless sacrifice.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">On the last regular day of class, after we had reviewed for the final, we decided that we needed to go to the home of two of the students and pray for them and their wives. Both of their wives have been very sick, one since February, the other, since 1987!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I had mixed feelings about the outing, because, my experience has been that God doesn’t always heal those we pray for. Now, some claim that that is due to a lack of faith in the person being prayed for, that If only they <i>believed</i> a little more, then God would heal them. Others say that God only heals through medical doctors nowadays. That healing in the New Testament was a mere sign, pointing to the arrival of God’s kingdom. And, they would say, since that kingdom has come (at least in part), then healing miracles are no longer necessary.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The problem with these two positions is that the first seems to make God a servant of faith. And if a miracle is dependent on my faith, then God hardly seems sovereign. The second position likewise, denies God’s character. It says that God only healed in order to make a point. Not because he loved people, not because he had compassion on them, not because he hated their suffering even more than they did. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">But Jesus said that if we had faith the size of a mustard seed...that is, really small faith...then we could do, or rather, he would do through us, rather amazing things. We could metaphorically move mountains, he said. And any arguments based on the New Testament text that miracles were for a limited time only, are desperately thin. One might achieve some (limited) success arguing philosophically or scientifically that miracles are a thing of the past, but to make such a claim based on the New Testament is a hard sell indeed.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">At any rate, I had mixed feelings. I wanted to see God help these people, who unlike most Americans, have few other options. And yet, I was afraid of the outcome if nothing came of it. What if they weren’t healed? What would be the effect on the students? On those we prayed for? On me?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">At the first house we went to, we prayed for a lady who for the last 22 years has suffered varying degrees of mental illness. In America, of course, we would promptly load such a person up on Prozac and whatever else is the anti–depressant du jour. And occasionally, we would do so with good cause. But in Zambia medical care for the mentally ill is virtually non–existent. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">At the second house, we prayed for a lady who had been sick since February with fevers, headaches, coughing, bloodshot eyes and itchy skin. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">As we gathered at the second house, which was in a busy compound just off the main market, in earshot of noisy bars and foot traffic, my fears about our prayers not being answered were quickly swallowed up in the reality of being there. In that tiny house, with its bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and its tin roof and chipped plaster walls, it occurred to me that we pray for healing, not only because God can and does heal the sick, but also because when we pray we become what we could never be otherwise.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">By that, I mean that in praying for those who are hurting, we lose something of our earthly and fatal perspective – a perspective that fears prayer because of what might <b>not be</b>, and enter into God’s divine perspective – one that embraces prayer because of <b>who God is</b>. We turn from a temporal, results-centered living, to an eternal, Person-centered loving. And in that, we find that prayer for healing is never about us, and it is even only partly about the person being prayed for.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And this is what both of those positions I mentioned above get right. It <b><i>is</i></b> ultimately about faith, and it <b><i>is</i></b> ultimately about the Kingdom. But neither of those, biblically speaking, is ever about us. Faith comes not from our will power, but from God’s <i>all</i> power. And the Kingdom of God that has burst in upon the kingdoms of men with the coming of Christ, is not about God making a statement, but about God making us whole. It is in the Kingdom that we are healed because it is in the King that we “live and move and have our being,” (Acts 17:28).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This last year, it seems there has been an abundance of opportunities to pray for a number of our friends who have faced, and some who still are facing, major health issues. And at times, I have found myself wearied by the news of yet another beloved friend in desperate need of a touch from God. Because the truth is, to care, to really care, is exhausting and dangerous. It’s exhausting because it shatters all notions of a world in which things are just fine, and in which every malady is solvable with a Band–Aid or Ritalin. And its dangerous because it violently reminds us that despite our memberships at the gym, and our IRAs and 401Ks and all the degrees and placards hanging on our walls commemorating our accomplishments, that we ultimately are as dependent and helpless as little children.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">And when we pray for the sick, I think somehow, we too find healing that we never even knew we needed. We might, I suppose, think of it as holy healthcare reform. When we come to God in faith and in recognition of our complete dependence on Him, we finally are able to, not only <b>understand</b> what Jesus meant when he said, “Unless you change (reform), and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” but more importantly, we are actually enabled to do it!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">So maybe we need to be praying for the sick more often because, 1) God can and does heal, and 2) because it is in doing so that we ourselves are cured of <b>our</b> greatest ailment, the disease of self–sufficiency. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p>Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-7424835130903441832009-07-04T09:43:00.000-07:002009-07-04T09:51:52.571-07:00July The Fourth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O4wmD1Q0X-Y/Sk-IStR0NUI/AAAAAAAAAI4/LgAJ6QrfSXM/s1600-h/young+girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_O4wmD1Q0X-Y/Sk-IStR0NUI/AAAAAAAAAI4/LgAJ6QrfSXM/s320/young+girl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354648336940152130" /></a><br />America is far from being perfect. We have our problems, no matter what political lens you chose to view the action from.<br /><br />On the Republican side, we have the Governor of South Carolina, who seems to have borrowed his present political strategy from Forest Gump: <i>stupid is as stupid does</i>. The Democrats, of course, have their share of gubernatorial goofballs too, starting with Rod Blagojevich.<br /><br />Now some among us have drawn some rather astonishing conclusions from these wayward politicians. The non–logic goes something like this:<br /><br />Sanford had an extramarital affair and ran off to Argentina to hook up with a woman he claimed to be his ‘soul mate.” Sanford is a republican. Therefore all republicans, who claim to adhere to “family values” are really adulterers who secretly lust after Antonio Banderas and Charo. And this is why Hugo Chavez is so angry.<br /><br />On the Dem side:<br /><br />Blagojevich tried to sell Obama’s senate seat to the highest bidder. Blago is a democrat. Therefore, all democrats, who claim to be champions of the poor, are in reality greedy elitists who want the rest of us to be driving around on riding lawnmowers while they’re busy joyriding in a 747 doing photo ops over New York city, on their way home from a weekend at Martha’s Vineyard.<br /><br />Of course, this is all nonsense.<br /><br />We all know that Hugo Chavez is angry because his haircut makes him look like Herman Munster, bless his heart. Perhaps John Edwards can recommend a good barber.<br /><br />So, yes, America has issues, just like the rest of the world.<br /><br />But the longer I’m in Africa, the more I appreciate just how good we have it in the good ole’ US of A. Here is short list of some of my biggest ‘gratefulnesses”.<br /><br /><ul><li>In America, I’m grateful for mostly honest policemen who aren’t constantly trying to con me, as one did this week in Lusaka when I was given a speeding ticket for going 4 miles per hour over the speed limit. The officer tried to claimed the fine was three times what the law says it is.</li><li>In America, I’m grateful that my tax money generally goes to important things, like roads or schools. In Africa, tax money can just as easily go towards a new fleet of Mercedes for government Ministers, presumably because the poor roads destroyed their previous ones.</li><li>In America, I’m grateful that a person can say whatever they want about the President, and not fear being tortured or killed. In many places in Africa, a person can say whatever they want about a president, as long as it is flattering.</li><li>In America, I’m grateful that loud explosions in the middle of the night usually don’t mean that we’re at war. Instead, it just means that Americans are celebrating their freedom, in the usual fashion, by blowing stuff up.</li><li>In America, I’m grateful that people like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Al Franken can run for office, and win. If they can’t get laws passed, then they should at least be good for a laugh or two.</li><li>In America, I’m grateful that there is a Fox News, and a CNN, and that neither of them are as “ fair” or “balanced” as they claim. It makes us all think for ourselves a little more than we otherwise might.</li></ul><br />I was sort of hesitant about posting this, because the last impression I wanted to give is that I think that everything about America is good, or that I think that everything about Africa is bad. Both places have their share of both.<br /><br />But in America I sometimes wonder if we are losing a sense of our most valuable national treasure, and by that I mean our ability to celebrate both our unity and our diversity. It seems that more and more our differences erupt into bitter personal attacks and slanderous accusations. Little by little, we are losing the ability to respectfully disagree.<br /><br />And if the Church, as possessors of the Spirit of unity (Rom. 15:5), cannot take the lead in changing this, how can we expect anyone else to?<br /><br />Because, as we have seen in Iran recently, we are never really independent until we can celebrate the freedom of dissent.Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-4716814844675187642009-06-18T02:06:00.000-07:002009-06-18T02:08:28.743-07:00NatureNature takes many forms.<br /><br />There is what we oddly call “mother nature,” and by which we usually mean severe weather or geological anomalies such as volcanoes and earthquakes. I’m not sure where that expression comes from though. I imagine some guy who had a rough childhood stood watching a volcano spewing hot lava, or a hurricane uprooting trees, and said, “Hmmm. Kinda reminds me of mom.” However it came about, it is an odd monicker. Mothers are usually nurturing, compassionate, and fond of nice, well–built homes. Nature on the other hand is often violent, disruptive, and fond of trailer parks. I fail to see the connection.<br /><br />Environmentalists strive for the preservation of nature. And this, contrary to what some Christians believe, is a good thing. God has made us caretakers of this planet we are on and it is our responsibility to be good stewards of what God has entrusted us with. Now, granted, some take things a bit too far. This past week I read a story about a group that wanted to promote clean air by riding their bikes naked through New York City. The bike part I get. The naked part, I don’t. Yes, a large man on a bike instead of in a car lowers our human footprint, as they say. However, a large naked guy on a bike instead of in a car, does not inspire me to greater concern for nature. It inspires me to greater concern for my corneas.<br /><br />And then there is what we call human nature. Human nature, of course, has many faces. There is the compassionate and loving side. There is the side that gives selflessly, that puts others first and that gives little thought to personal needs. That is the rare side of human nature. More often, though, we encounter the ugly side of humanity.<br /><br />And perhaps one of the most common aspects of the ugly side, is that of corruption. Corruption can be found anywhere and everywhere, and Africa is no exception. <br /><br />This week the big news story here in Zambia has to do with a government official who made off with something like 6 million dollars (US) in funds from the Ministry of Health. In reaction to the news, doctors and nurses went on strike claiming that if there was 6 million dollars lying around waiting to be stolen, then there was surely enough for them to get a raise. Then, teachers across the country went on strike claiming that it just seemed like a fun thing to do. As a result, students from local high schools began to riot by throwing rocks at passing cars, claiming that if there was 6 million dollars lying around waiting to be stolen and that if doctors and nurses and teachers could go on strike, then surely, rock throwing must fit into the picture somehow.<br /><br />At times, when we hear things like this in Africa, we shake our head in bewilderment as though we know nothing of such things. Of course, this is far from true. My thoughts and actions frequently testifies to my own various forms of corruption. Granted, I have never stolen 6 million dollars. But my inclinations, my nature, is seldom faultless. <br /><br />For instance, I find myself frequently jealous rather than joyous at the successes and opportunities enjoyed by my friends. And even when I do serve others in whatever way, I often find that I am motivated by my own need for significance rather than by genuine compassion and concern. And sometimes, becoming aware of these and other less than godly qualities that I possess, can be discouraging.<br /><br />This past week we hosted a team from a church in Virginia. On the last day of the team’s visit we took them a few hours outside the city of Lusaka so they could rest and take in a bit of nature, Zambia style. <br /><br />The Lower Zambezi River is home to an ample array of flora and fauna. And as we were speeding along the river, I couldn’t escape the sense that it was all put there for our benefit, that the beauty of nature is far too precise, far too harmonious to have been accidental. Perhaps this is why some prefer the term “mother nature.” Because <span style="font-weight:bold;">nature, is intensely personal.</span> It bears an unmistakable note of dedication that is far more than merely the signature of the Artist. Rather, it is a note from the Artist himself, to all who would appreciate it declaring that it is done for our benefit, from the Creator himself to us.<br /><br />And in all of this, I am reminded that <span style="font-weight:bold;">God is an intensely personal God</span> who has come to restore to humanity the beauty of the divine imprint upon our human nature, an imprint that has long been lost (Gen. 1:27). And in the slow saunter of a Saddleback Stork, and in the quiet restoration of my own soul, I am reminded that what God does, is inherently good (see all of Gen. 1), and that what we do apart from his Spirit, despite whatever clever things we may dress it up in, is inherently corrupt.<br /><br />“Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that <span style="font-weight:bold;">nature</span> desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace,” (Romans 8:5-6). <br /><br />Thus the hope for Zambia, the hope for an imperfect missionary, the hope for the environment, is not merely a greater appreciation <span style="font-weight:bold;">for nature</span>, but rather a greater seeking of the Spirit that <span style="font-weight:bold;">changes our nature</span> and makes us more like the One who created it all to begin with.<br /><br />And best of all, no one has to get naked.Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24226459.post-44127865330748005512009-05-13T00:15:00.000-07:002009-05-13T01:54:13.153-07:00Jelly IslandA few weeks ago I had to take our puppy Allie to the vet. I am still undergoing indoctrination into all things doggie, and I suppose this was a necessary next step in the process. You may recall from previous posts that I have not traditionally been a pet person. Not that I dislike animals or anything, but rather that I simply prefer to enjoy them on either the Discovery Channel or the end of a fork.<br /><br />Mostly my frustration with animals is that they tend to take far more than they give. Now, if they could do a few dishes or clean a bathroom once in a while, then my view of pets might be radically different. But so far, we have had a hard enough time training Allie to do…well, just to doo somewhere besides on the rug in front of the TV.<br /><br />Those of you who are animal lovers are, I’m sure, protesting by this time, declaring, “But pets are wonderful because they love you unconditionally.” Which is true, if by unconditionally you mean providing that you feed them and rub their bellies for hours on end. If that is what you mean by unconditional love, then yes, they do that.<br /><br />Anyway, my trip to the vet got off to a difficult start as Allie seemed to innately know what was about to happen because usually she comes right away when I call her. But when I tried to put her in the car, she began running around in circles, not circles big enough to make it impossible for me to catch her mind you, but rather small little circles that seemed to accentuate the fact that it was Allie and not me that was firmly in control. Our neighbor’s workers stood and watched in delight as this racoon sized dog eluded my capture and occasionally stopped long enough to mock me and let me catch my breath, in between my hysterically shouting, “Allie. Allie. Come–here, Allie. Allie Come. Come. Come...here. Allie. Allie. Allie. ALLIE!!!!! UGGGGGH.”<br /><br />By the time we reached the vet, I was completely worn out and my self confidence had been greatly shaken. Its amazing how much self–confidence we derive from what we can (or, in this case can’t) do. <br /><br />The receptionist at the vet’s office took my information, name address and phone number as well as Allie’s name, and made us an official file and we were taken right in. When the vet grabbed the thermometer, I immediately began looking for some reading material as I had no desire to see where she was going to put it. The only reading material nearby was the file that the receptionist had made and so I quickly grabbed it and began scanning the information.<br /><br />Sometimes, people (like dogs) don’t always hear what we say and I chuckled out loud as I read the name on the file.<br /><br />It read: <span style="font-style:italic;">Mr. Jelly Island.</span><br /><br />You know, Jelly Island, that wonderful little fairy–tale place right next to Peanut Butter Bay, where the Doughnut Dolphins can be seen jumping in unison alongside the Gravy Boats as they head out to the Syrup Sea. Tra–la–la–la–la. Yeah for Jelly Island!<br /><br />On the whole, the day thrust me into a major identity crisis as though the headline of my life suddenly became, “Gelatinous Land Mass Man Outwitted by 1lb. Dog.” <br /><br />This week we just finished a seminary class on the History of Christian Missions. And one thing that I am reminded of as we have studied the spread of Christianity from the Middle East to Africa, to Europe, to Asia and eventually on to America is that the Gospel when properly understood, never robs a people of their identity, but rather it reveals it.<br /><br />And I have noticed a tendency in myself to look for my identity in so many things, in my meager accomplishments, in education, in writing, or yes (sadly), even in really dumb things like clothes or gadgets. It seems my whole being constantly is crying out and asking, “Who am I?” And yet, any answer to that question that is not rooted in Christ leaves me in sorry state of affairs. Because when my identity comes in what I do, or what I wear, when it comes in things so fragile that you can wake up one day and find them simply gone, then the chief characteristic of your life becomes an endless desperation to cling to what perhaps you never really had to begin with.<br /><br />And this is the trouble with postmodern thought. If there are no absolutes (which is preposterous – because then that statement itself could not be absolutely true!), then there is nothing other than the temporal and absurd to which we can cling, to which we can turn for life and hope. <br /><br />Consider the words of the apostle Paul, who said, “I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live. The life I live in the body I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me,” (Gal. 2:20). As I meditate on that, and on what a profound sense Paul seemed to have of his life being “hidden in Christ” (Col. 3:3), I am reminded that what Christ offers us in our identifying with him in his death, is in reality the supreme entrance into the abundant life he has promised us.<br /><br />And apart from that, we, and those without the gospel, will forever be mere Jelly Islands.Jerry Irelandhttps://plus.google.com/103191336296131516771noreply@blogger.com0